


someday i'm going to steal your heart

by orphan_account



Category: White Collar, X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - White Collar Fusion, Detective!Erik, Erik is a Shark, M/M, and erik is kinda into it, art thief!charles, charles has a weird way of courting erik
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-29
Updated: 2015-10-29
Packaged: 2018-04-28 17:41:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5099741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles steals things for a living, and Erik’s heart is no exception. Or it wouldn’t be, if he had one. (He does. He does.)</p><p>*</p><p>“You look good,” Charles says, smirking at him. He leans back out of the open window, smoke curling around over his head, visible against the inky sky. “Heard you made lead on the investigation. You going to take me in, Detective Lehnsherr?”</p><p>Erik gives a tired sigh, taking in the mad, beautiful man in front of him, and knows that he should be saying yes, should be saying you’re under arrest, should have arrested Charles Xavier long ago, the first time the man ever appeared in Erik’s apartment. Wasn’t Erik cold-hearted once? What happened to him?</p><p>(Charles, he thinks. Charles happened to me.)</p><p>“Into the bedroom, maybe,” Erik hears himself say. “If you’ve been a good boy.”</p><p>Charles laughs in delight. “Oh, Detective,” he murmurs around his cigarette, exhaling clouds of smoke that fog up the glass of the window, “but I’ve been very, very bad.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	someday i'm going to steal your heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Chinchillaatthedisc0](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chinchillaatthedisc0/gifts).



> Title from “Steal Your Heart” by Augustana. 
> 
> Dedicated to Emma, who has been patiently demanding Cherik for, oh, about a million years. I was just bored enough to finally write it for her. (I know this wasn’t what you had in mind but I had so much fun writing this.) 
> 
> Happy Halloween, Peaches <3

The first time Erik sees him, it’s just a flash of a crooked smirk over a glass jewelry case.

This isn’t the thief’s usual MO—normally it’s art, colorful paintings with strong brushstrokes. Erik doesn’t know much about art, and he doesn’t _care_ , either. Paint on a canvas means nothing to him. What does matter to him, though, is theft of private property. And Charles Xavier, art theft extraordinaire, is a set of fingerprints and a crooked grin that is _definitely_ responsible for theft of private property.

His file has him painted as a stereotypical rich kid. His father is the heir of wealthy European nobles, his mother was a model, his sister is an actress… Everything points to Xavier being the black sheep of his family. He went to university to get a major in genetic mutations and a minor in art history, instead of taking over the family business and becoming a lawyer, and his parents cut him off. Cue a couple years of apartment addresses listed to shady neighborhoods, bar tabs as long as the list of people Erik wishes didn’t exist (it’s a lengthy list), unpaid rent and jobs that Xavier didn’t work for more than a couple months each.

It all suggests that it’s some petty form of revenge against the wealthy. Stealing away the beautiful things so many of them take for granted.

But that smirk. That smirk, over the glass jewelry case in a museum in New York City. That smirk does not suggest revenge.

That smirk suggests seduction. And a simple pleasure in taking things it isn’t supposed to have.

*

The DNA is everywhere, this time. More substantial than smeared fingerprints on the side of a glass case, more substantial than that curling smirk over flashing diamonds.

The victim is named Moira MacTaggert, and she has a smear of red lipstick down her chin, a dark scowl set across her features. She’s wrapped in a silk robe and has her hair pulled into a messy bun on top of her head. When she catches sight of Erik, her scowl deepens.

“Lehnsherr,” she snaps, striding towards him. “What the hell _happened_?”

He tries not to smirk. “I was hoping you could tell me, Agent MacTaggert.” He eyes the rumpled sheets on the bed, the semen spilled across her silk sheets, the handcuffs hanging half latched on the headboard.

“I wasn’t on duty,” she hisses. “Who the hell _was_ that?”

“Charles Xavier,” Dr. McCoy pipes up from where he’s taking a sample of the semen, his face set in a permanent frown. “The art thief.”

“An art thief,” MacTaggert repeats. “I let an art thief into my bed.”

“He took the painting from your foyer,” Detective Summers says, walking into the room. Erik doesn’t miss the way he eyes Dr. McCoy’s ass where he’s leaning over the bed, and Erik snorts to himself. They think they’re subtle. “And he left a message.”

“A message?” Erik snaps out. “Why is this the first I’m hearing of this?”

Summers glares at him. “It’s for Detective Shaw,” he says. “The lead on the case. It’s already been sent up to him.”

Erik scowls. Shaw is the lead on the case, but he never does any of the work. He’ll show up for the arrest, maybe, just to say he’s the one who took down Xavier. Shaw isn’t worth the title attached to his name.

“Get me a copy of that message,” he growls. “Find out why the hell Xavier wanted that god-awful painting. And bring in Raven Darkholme.”

*

Raven Darkholme lives in a classy apartment upstate. She answers the door in sweatpants and doesn’t look surprised to see them.

“It’s Charles, isn’t it?” she asks, sighing. “Come on in. I’ll put on tea.”

Raven is Xavier’s adopted sister. Younger by seven years and pretty as a picture, she’s blunt and honest, and Erik, god forbid, _likes_ her.

“I haven’t seen Charles in four years,” she tells them. “He writes, sometimes, but never leaves a return address.” She turns to look at Erik. “You’re Detective Lehnsherr, aren’t you?” she asks, and when he nods, she smirks. “He wrote you,” she says. “Told me to give it to you when you stopped by. You seem to have caught his eye.”

She rolls her eyes. “I half think this whole art thief thing is an elaborate way of courting you. He said he left his fingerprints in the jewelry store so you’d identify him. Let you see him so you’d know what you were looking for.”

Erik scowls. The message left for Shaw was nothing more than a simple taunt, just _You’ll never catch me. – CX_. Erik is expecting something similar.

He’s not expecting what he gets.

 _Detective Lehnsherr_ , it opens. _I’m addressing you because it’s my understanding that, while the lead on my case is Shaw, you’re the one actually trying to catch me. It’s also my understanding that if any man were going to catch me, it would be you._

_I’m honored to have you on my case, Detective. I’ll see you soon. – CX_

*

Erik is not surprised to find Charles Xavier in his apartment that night. He almost saw it coming.

The smirk is still there, underneath clear blue eyes and a mop of dark, messy hair, just above a stubbled jawline, fingers holding a cigarette up against plump red lips. The window is open behind him, and there’s a full moon tonight, affecting a halo around Xavier’s head. His legs are lazily sprawled open, seduction evident even in loose gestures. He oozes sex appeal.

Erik doesn’t understand why he’s here.

“Xavier,” he says flatly. “Coming here was a mistake.”

The thief sits up straighter, eyes dancing with mischief. “Are you going to call back up?” he drawls, voice sweet and low. “I’ll be gone before they get here,” he taunts.

Erik cross his arms over his chest, leaning against the doorframe of his bedroom. “Why are you here, then? Not turning yourself in.”

“Oh,” Xavier laughs, “I just wanted to see you. See if you’re as great as they say. Do you know that the one time I ever made the mistake of working with a partner, you caught her? Fortunately, my dear friend Jean would never sell me out. I heard she escaped, didn’t she? Good girl.”

Erik frowns. He remembers Jean Grey. Smart woman. Her only mistake was getting glimpsed by a security camera. She had a noticeable face.

So does Charles, Erik thinks, but he’s never been caught on camera. Never been seen at the scene of the crime before Erik joined the investigation.

“Why me?” he asks, cocking his head to the side. “You’re doing all of this for me. Why?”

Charles’ body wracks with delighted laughter. “Not _just_ for you, Detective,” he says. “I take great pleasure in art. And the act of a theft. But that’s not why I’ve gotten your attention. That’s not why I’m here.”

Erik cocks his head to the side in acknowledgement. “Why, then?”

There’s that smirk again. Billowing out smoky clouds. They drift out the open windows, catching on the breeze, floating up to the moon. “You’re wasting your time, looking for me,” Charles tells him. The smirk disappears, replaced by a frown. “I’m not the one you should be worried about. Not when Shaw is in power.”

With that ominous threat between them, Xavier turns and pushes himself out of the open window. Erik knows there’s nothing out there but a three story fall into a dank alleyway, but he knows that Charles has made it out alive anyways.

*

He doesn’t tell anyone about the visit. He’s going to, but every time he thinks about it, he thinks about Shaw, and… Well. There are greater concerns than where an art thief spends his evenings.

*

It’s a museum in Paris. A cheeky note taped to a masterpiece. _Are you having fun yet, Detective Lehnsherr?_

The sick thing is, Erik _is._

*

It’s London. It’s New York. It’s Austria. It’s everywhere. Erik can’t get rid of him. He doesn’t see Charles, but there are notes left for him. Tea sent to his hotel room. Books appearing on his night stand.

Erik wakes one morning to find himself still on his couch in his work clothes, Charles’ file spread across his lap. It’s a post-it note in Charles’ loopy scrawl reading _This isn’t even my MO, does Shaw know anything?_ And then another, on Erik’s coffee machine, _I made coffee. You look like you could use it. Don’t run yourself ragged looking for me, dear._

*

They talk to Raven Darkholme again. When everyone else leaves, Erik lingers in the doorway, unsure how to talk to her, unsure how to voice his concerns.

She does it for him. “My brother is courting you through a series of thefts,” she says bluntly. She grins. “You’d think he was raised by wolves. But no. Just cast out to them at a young age. Should I tell him to stop?”

Erik surprises himself when he says no. He’s surprised even more that he likes it when Raven laughs, pats him on the arm, and says, “Oh, you’re _perfect_ for Charles.”

*

Charles disappears. There are no cheeky messages, no sugary sweet notes. There’s no evidence of Xavier in Erik’s apartment. He doesn’t send lengthy letters to Raven that they all know will get screened by the bureau.

There’s nothing. Charles Xavier seems to have dropped off the face of the earth.

Erik is surprised to find he’s disappointed. Maybe, he thinks, he’s even upset.

*

Long before Charles Xavier makes a reappearance, Sebastian Shaw is arrested for terrorism. 304 dead and counting. Grand Central Station is in rubble. The Bureau is under investigation. Somewhere among all of this, Erik is promoted. He takes on all of Shaw’s cases.

Including Charles Xavier’s.

*

It turns out that Charles Xavier’s case is already shut. They find his body in Italy and send it to Dr. McCoy for identification. It’s him, McCoy confirms. That’s his DNA.

Erik doesn’t recognize the burned corpse on the autopsy table. He thinks it’s better that way. He doesn’t want to look at this body and see Charles. That’s not the Charles he knew.

(Part of him keeps saying that he never actually knew Charles. Not like he could have if Charles hadn’t died. Not like he could have, if Charles wasn’t a thief and Erik wasn’t hunting him. Not like he could have in any other life.)

*

Charles Xavier is in his window sill again, surprisingly alive, no burn marks on him.

Erik is, oddly, relieved. And, even odder, unsurprised.

(Dear god, he thinks, what is that commotion in my chest? Is that? Is it really? _Happiness_? He doesn’t know how to recognize it anymore if it is.)

“You look good,” Charles says, smirking at him. He leans back out of the open window, smoke curling around over his head, visible against the inky sky. “Heard you made lead on the investigation. You going to take me in, Detective Lehnsherr?”

Erik gives a tired sigh, taking in the mad, beautiful man in front of him, and knows that he should be saying _yes_ , should be saying _you’re under arrest_ , should have arrested Charles Xavier long ago, the first time the man ever appeared in Erik’s apartment. Wasn’t Erik cold-hearted once? What happened to him?

(Charles, he thinks. Charles happened to me.)

“Into the bedroom, maybe,” Erik hears himself say. “If you’ve been a good boy.”

This at least has been a long time coming. This, at least, Erik understands.

Charles laughs in delight. “Oh, Detective,” he murmurs around his cigarette, exhaling clouds of smoke that fog up the glass of the window, “but I’ve been very, very bad.”

Erik thinks he might like that. Just a bit. Just enough to draw Charles in, and never let him go.


End file.
